


My Heartbeat is a Prayer

by DarkHeartInTheSky



Series: Random Drabbles/Requests [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester Prays to Castiel, Drabble, Introspection, Post-Episode: s11e14 The Vessel, Prayer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 20:01:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6092371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkHeartInTheSky/pseuds/DarkHeartInTheSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.<br/>-1 Corinthians 13:13</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Heartbeat is a Prayer

 

                Dean closes the door quietly behind him, and locks it. The tumblers softly click and fill the silence of his bedroom, but only for a brief moment and then he’s drowning in it. It’s crushing him, a heavy weight on his chest and his lungs are shuddering inside his ribcage, unable to hold onto his breaths.

                The shudders migrate to his arms and jaw, causing the hairs to stand up straight; and then they go to his knees and he can’t even hold his own weight anymore. He slides to the ground, back pressed against his door and he pulls his knees to his chest and buries his face in between them.

                A sound rips out his throat. Subdued, agonized and raw. He wants to scream. He wants to throw things against the walls. He wants to stare at the bottom of a Jack Daniel’s bottle, tipping the neck over to get out every last drop. But he can’t do anything more than just sit there and shudder and sob.

                He’s not sure how long he stays there. Exhaustion seeps into his bones, but somehow he manages to crawl the three feet from the door to his bed. The covers are itchy, and the mattress swallows him whole. Dean pulls the covers over his head and tucks his knees up against his chest.

                He counts his breathing. Then, “Castiel.”

                The word hangs heavy in the air. His mouth feels dry. He swallows deeply and licks his lips. “Castiel,” he says again, this time with more conviction. “You got your ears on?”

                He realizes, for the first time, that Lucifer might be able to hear too. Then he decides that he doesn’t care. Lucifer’s already touched and taken the most important things in Dean’s life: first Sam, now Castiel. There’s nothing Lucifer has to gain by listening in.

                “I’m not mad at you,” Dean says, because it’s important. He’s not. He’s too tired to be mad; and he’s spent so long being mad at Castiel, because if he was pissed at Castiel, he could ignore this _other_ nagging at the back of his mind and winding down his throat, wrapping around his heart. If he pushed the anger to the front, let the anger be what Castiel saw, let the anger be what Dean felt, he could ignore all of it. At his core, Dean knows he’s a coward, and it’s easier to be angry at Castiel than to be this _other._

                But anger was poison. And not just to Dean, not just to Castiel. Dean’s anger bled through to everyone around him and it affected them too.

                He can’t ignore this _other_ now, not when he’s so worried. He just can’t will the anger to come.

                “I just want to know why.”

                Because Dean couldn’t wrap his head around it. They were going to get out of the Cage. They went in knowing that Rowena was going to bust them out; went in knowing they were just needing to stall for time. Lucifer got in a few good hits on all of them, but Castiel wouldn’t have said yes because of that. All of them had undergone torture—he wouldn’t have caved because Lucifer had a good right hook.

                Dean shivers. Even underneath his blanket, he’s freezing. “Is this because of Amara? Because we’ll find a way, Cas. We always find another way.”

                Sam told Dean something earlier that night, back out on the docks.

                “Sam says…Sam says you told him that you wanted to be ‘of service to the fight’. I don’t know what that means, Cas, but you’re not serving anybody by letting Satan wear you to the prom. ‘Specially not yourself.”

                A throbbing pressure builds behind Dean’s eyes and nose. Dean sniffs, but it does nothing, and then snot is running down and he rubs viciously at his nostrils, rubbing them red and raw with his blanket. He blinks and his eyes burn.

                “So, kick him out already. You got through enough to talk to Sam. Do it again and just _push._ You can do it, Castiel, I know you can. You broke through Naomi, and the crazy wall. Sam beat him, you can too.”

                Castiel always came back to him. Sometimes took longer than others, but Castiel always came back. Not even death could even keep them apart. Not death, not Heaven, nor Hell—not even Dean could them apart.

                _You can’t stay here_ Dean told him, in the one moment when Castiel needed him most. And he hadn’t heard from Castiel in months after that, but then he did, and they crossed the boundaries they put on themselves.

                If not even Dean’s own insecurities could keep them apart, then the Devil had no chance.

                “And _you,_ ” Dean growls. “Listen to me. If you can hear me—if you hurt him—I’ll kill you. I’ll burn you alive. You’re a fucking snake and I will end you. You thought the Cage was bad, just wait till I get my hands on you.”

                Forty years in Hell still boils underneath his skin, and Dean knows better than anyone how to paint with blood and ash, how to make agonized screams sound like music.

                Warm tears race down Dean’s face.

                “I’ll get you back, Cas, I promise, I promise.”

                Then it becomes his heartbeat.

                _I love you, I love you, I love you_ , he thinks, focuses all towards Castiel. He’s shaking too hard to say it out loud, but it’s still as true as anything else he knows.

                “We’ll find another way to beat Amara, we don’t need him, and—“

                _I love you, I love you, I love you._


End file.
